Dirt On The Carpet
by Silver Queen's Goldfinch
Summary: One-shot-stories, featuring the Du Couteau family. Chapter two: childish fights pale in the face of reality. Steps Measured - universe, can be read as standalones.
1. Chapter 1

Katarina was excited. In fact, she was so abuzz that she could hardly refrain from bouncing up and down.

Her younger sister Cassiopeia threw her a derogatory glance. "Cease your prancing." She ordered with the nasal arrogance only a nine year old could muster.

"How about you go and fuck yourself?" Katarina hissed, a curse she had only recently learned and was very keen on using ever since - despite (or maybe because of?) their mother's disdain at her newly acquired vocabulary.

Cassiopeia threw her hair back in a gesture she had surely practiced in front of the mirror. Right now it looked like nothing more than a practiced gesture; too stiff and without the poised elegance their mother possessed.

"You could just go to your room." Katarina pointed out, a little too late.

Cassiopeia only lifted her nose. "I have something to discuss with father." With that, she sat down on the stairs next to Katarina, her hands neatly folding in her lap, the picture of patience.

"And what might that be?" Katarina prodded, standing up now that her sister invaded her comfortable vantage point.

Cassiopeia's chubby cheeks puffed up. "None of your business, that is." She said, but the glint in her eyes told her redheaded sister that the younger girl was dangerously close to losing her temper.

"Sure." Katarina nodded, a smile forming on her face. "I think you are just nosy."

"Am not." Cassiopeia replied calmly, her eyes narrowing.

"Then go away!" The redhead prompted with tilting her head up the stairs, where Cassiopeia's room was.

Now the cold, pointed stare from Cassiopeia's piercing green eyes could have killed. "Am not!" She exclaimed louder and whiney.

Katarina grinned at her and lifted an eyebrow, a gesture _she_ had practiced in front of the mirror more often than she cared to admit.

"AM NOT!" Cassiopeia yelled, but before she could throw herself at Katarina, the oaken front door opened and Katarina danced three steps down to look at the newcomer. Cassiopeia, regaining her calm within the blink of an eye, lifted herself up and dusted her clothes much more controlled.

He was back. Katarina's heart leaped and her fingers drilled into the wooden banister.

Her father's tall figure casted its shadow in the foyer and instantly, Katarina searched for someone standing next to him. At first, she was astonished to see…nothing, no one, just her father, making his way over the threshold, dragging a bag behind him. Now, Katarina flitted down the stairs to cover up her desired inspecting with the pretense of properly greeting him. There were so many questions to be asked. Didn't he retrieve what he had gone out for? A frown threatened to darken her mien. Her father had announced to go hunting for a shadow, so Katarina had expected for him to return in company - or soaked in blood - but coming back empty-handed? That hadn't been an option.

First, the fearful whispers of an assassin roaming the Noxian undercity, picking apart the smaller assassin-guilds one by one, had been easily dismissed as rumors. Words had needed two years to grow to her father's ears. It had taken even longer until he had attached enough importance to the rumors to go and check for himself. Katarina, for she had been the one soaking up the stories about the infamous shadow, had waited more or less patiently the whole day for him to come back. She didn't know what she had expected, but certainly not for her father to return reeking, with an expression on his face that converted his satisfaction. She needed another glance to detect that the thing he was dragging behind wasn't a particularly dirty bag of clothes, but rather a small, unconscious person, even though the features that normally made out a human were well-hidden beneath layers of grime, dried blood and things Katarina didn't even want to think about. From what she was able to see, the dragged form did not even have her size. Her shoulders sagged down in disappointment.

"What is that?" Cassiopeia twanged in her best imitation of their mother's voice, her arms akimbo. She sounded ridiculous, but their father's expression softened.

"A 'who' more than a 'what', darling." General Marcus Du Couteau corrected. "I think it is a bit early for an introduction." He said and effortlessly pulled the human bundle through the foyer. "I will do so as soon as he's awake. His name is Talon, though."

Now, Katarina was not only disappointed, but disgusted as well. This... _Talon_ smelled like something pulled through the sewers first and out of them second, the unphysiological kinks in his leg indicated at least two fractures. It did not need a genius to see that _this_ was someone probably around her age, hard to guess because of the filth he was covered with, wearing tattered rags for clothes, thin, malnourished, and clearly beaten to pulp. This thing here looked nothing like the shadow about which she had heard, nothing like the assassin she had expected. This was just a broken, bloody bag of flesh.

Luckily, Cassiopeia took the initiative and gave her thoughts a more verbal coat. "You cannot be _serious!_ This thing will bleed all over the carpets!" She fretted, pointing to the dark trail Marcus - or the boy - had already left.

A rare smile twitched over their father's face, something that set Katarina on high alert instantly. "You will see. Spare your scorn for later, Cassiopeia." He nodded to a maid. "Get the healer." He ordered, and the maid bowed and vanished.

Katarina trailed behind her father, equally drawn and repulsed. As he lifted the heap that might or might not be a human somewhere inside to carry it up the stairs with an outstretched arm, movement came into the tangled mass. Just a winding motion and then twitching arms became visible, with fingers that curled like claws. Hardly like fingers at all, Katarina noticed, more like the talons of a bird of prey. Slits appeared in the beaten, bloodied face, revealing blood-injected eyes and, for a moment, Katarina was stunned. Pools of molten gold fixed on her, revealing nothing like fear, only a surprisingly cold, collected, impersonal, _calculating indifference._ Split lips curled back over bloodied teeth and a deep snarl, a threat like she had never heard one, rumbled through the boy's chest.

Her father only shook the neck he was holding like he'd shake a cat, and the feral eyes rolled up as the head sunk down again. "Quiet now. I'll introduce you later." Marcus promised, much softer than his harsh shake had been.

* * *

 _I have no idea why I like dragging/ carrying/ pulling the characters around so much._

 _I do imagine that it took quite a bit to force Talon into submission, so…the question was…would he be able to walk after taking a serious beating from General Du Couteau?_


	2. Chapter 2

Cassiopeia listened carefully, finding shelter on the shadows of the grand staircase that would lead her down. No maid disturbed her field of vision, otherwise her cowering would have painted the wrong picture. She crossed the first steps undiscovered; the entrance hall was empty.

The quiet whisper of steel, combined with a much more telling laugh cut through the silence of the Du Couteau estate as a figure jumped out of the shadows, cloak billowing behind him in an impossible turn as he evaded two thrown daggers. A red flash blinked behind the shadow, caught a dagger in flight and arced it upwards. The shadow changed his direction and spun around, his cloak flaring up and cutting through the air. Katarina danced back, stepping against the wall to propel herself forward. Her opponent raised his curved arm-blade to parry her, making sparks fly upwards.

For a moment they tested each other's strength and stance, both pressing forward. Katarina's face contorted to a dark snarl before the shadow kicked at her legs and vanished into thin air. The redhead jumped back and huffed, a loose grip around both of her weapons as she closed her eyes, listening for the telltale sound of steel cutting through the air.

Cassiopeia held her breath. As much as she hated the dirty street-rat that had invaded her home three years prior, watching him and Katarina fight was always a sight to behold. Plus, it was a situation she did not want to interrupt, especially not when she tried to evade both assassins… Katarina spun around and send a dagger flying, Cassiopeia had barely time to _think_ before she jumped out of her hiding spot, evading the steel by hair's breadth.

Now, Cassiopeia looked down the stairs and sneered. The _piece of dirt_ had interrupted the sparring match as well and appeared at the bottom of the grand staircase, lifting his head. She bared her teeth and was met with cold, golden eyes looking up at her. Cassiopeia took a step back - she had managed to evade the gutter-trash for the last few days easily enough, for he had been bedridden, and she would have liked to elongate the period of no contact. Talon still looked pale, even under his ever-present hood, the famished expression on his hollow face clashing with the dark circles under his eyes. He looked even worse than usual, the last days had managed to burn his body more than the twelve centimeters he had grown in the last year.

"I knew I'd find you, little—"

Before Katarina, her red-headed, fiery-spirited sister could voice her accusations, the great entrance door blasted open. Cassiopeia jumped at the sound, Katarina half turned, aiming and throwing her dagger at the unbidden visitor.

Steel rustled as Katarina _leaped_ to the street-rat's side, eyes fixed on the newcomer who had caught her blade. Cassiopeia tore her gaze away from the unveiled threat in Talon's eyes to look at the man who had finally, _finally_ arrived.

Her only hope.

He had stopped the trash-boy from killing her once already, and now he would need to do so a second time.

She took a deep breath, ready to scream if need be. " _Father!_ " She whined, jumping down the stairs much too fast to retain the air of indifference she so desperately wanted to keep.

A precisely thrown blade stopped Cassiopeia's advance and embedded itself in the wooden banister just where her head had been before her moving away.

"Not now," The patriarch of house Du Couteau hissed, and three adolescents straightened up.

Cassiopeia saw Katarina's brow creasing and their father's stupid shadow retreated into Katarina's lee side. Like the vermin he was, Talon was able to _feel_ upcoming tensions, so Cassiopeia checked her father's figure. He was… red. Which was no surprise, per se, as his hair was just a bit darker than Katarina's mane, but the reddish-brown of dried blood coating every part of him, from tip to toe, was unusual.

"Father," Katarina snarled impatiently, "we have to discuss—"

" _Not now, Katarina!"_ Marcus roared and Katarina barely managed to move quickly enough, noticing his flickered hand in the last possible moment before the thrown blade would have split her face. Instead, it chopped a few strands of her red hair and cut across her cheek, drilling into the wall, vibrating with the force it had been thrown with.

Katarina instantly changed her stance, ignoring the raising left hand of Talon behind her, as if he wanted to grasp for her shoulder. Cassiopeia's gaze flitted over the dagger her father had thrown.

Her world stopped spinning, her eyes narrowed in incomprehension.

She knew the signature weapon, she knew the plain hilt, even though the missing decor was hidden by green and red satin ribbons. A sharp, double-edged blade with two signs stamped on the opposing sides right under the crossguard, the sigil of house Du Couteau and the name-rune of Marcus himself. It was her father's initiation blade, a gift from his mother after his tenth successful assignment, an acknowledgment of his standing as well as his membership to the family.

Cassiopeia had never seen the weapon worn by her father.

The last time she had seen this blade, it had been proudly displayed on her mother's hip, ornament and promise withal. It had been a meaningful gift, presented after the first exhausting months of marriage, subsequent to when the mutual hate had grown to respect. According to her mother's words, it had been bestowed upon her along with the invitation to kill him with it, should Marcus irrevocably disappoint her.

And now the blade that had sealed their union, the one that had ended the age-old blood-feud between the families both of them belonged to, stuck inside the wooden ornaments of the entrance hall.

Katarina had seemingly not drawn the same conclusion, for she started to ask. "Father, what does this—"

Marcus Du Couteau's gaze closed in on her and never had Cassiopeia wanted to vanish as much as she did right now. Katarina misinterpreted the situation again and, seemingly unsure of herself, her hand rushed to her belt and to the daggers hidden there. An unconscious gesture but it was enough to set Marcus off. With lightning speed, the older assassin accelerated and threw himself against his oldest daughter, crashing into the completely astonished Katarina. She managed to catch the first hit, jumped over the feet that tried to swipe hers away, parried the feint and then she tried to bash her elbow into Marcus's nose. Cassiopeia noticed a mistake when she saw it and she knew that this would have been over if Katarina had just surrendered. But surrendering was not like Katarina, and it was not like Marcus to retreat, either.

Something in their father's gaze _changed_.

Then he started to move like nothing Cassiopeia had ever seen before. His efficiency and brutality were quickly overwhelming.

Cassiopeia was not able to turn away, she could only watch in horror as her father started mincing her sister. The fifteen-year-old had no chance against the much more experienced assassin. Seeking help, Cassiopeia looked around, but Talon, his face completely hidden by his hood, ignored her and retreated into the shadows. Cassiopeia, despite having poisoned him not a week ago, an act from which he had barely recovered just yet, cursed his name and his presence once more. She knew that he and Katarina had become acquaintances and she knew how their fights sometimes ended, so him just fleeing the scene made her want to strangle the living daylight out of him. Sadly, he was physically stronger, but for this cowardice, Cassiopeia swore, he would bleed. She would not rest until the last muscle of his unworthy body stopped moving. Her fingernails drew blood and she looked at the now-still blade still stuck in the wall. This time, Katarina would not save him from her wrath.

Katarina did not scream and she did not protest, Cassiopeia had to give her as much, and she averted her eyes. It did not take long until the sounds subsided.

She knew that the average person of fifty kilograms had a bit less than five liters of blood and, like the last rest of milk spilled in the kitchen, ten milliliters of either substance could go a long way repainting a room. The entrance hall was red all over.

Cassiopeia had not expected Katarina to still be breathing, but the redhead was as stubborn as usual, even though she looked like put through a meat grinder.

Their father was gone.

The heavy oaken double doors opened again, and Cassiopeia straightened herself, stealing her mien to face whatever was coming now. She stepped in front of the wheezing heap of her sister, placing her palms against each other to look calmer, more regal.

She had not expected to see a familiar cloak, the blades attached to it churning unusually loud.

Her lips curled back in an ugly snarl as she, despite her lack of training, grasped for a dagger in her belt. But then, Talon pulled something, _no,_ someone, through the door, whose protest drowned in the clinking of steel. No, it was no protest, Cassiopeia sorted. It was a plea for calmness. As the grey robes of healer Ilak became visible as Talon all but threw him inside the house, Cassiopeia went slack.

The healer froze as he caught sight of the felled assassin, but Cassiopeia had to give him as much: he was nothing if not professional.

"When did that happen?" Ilak asked with sudden urgency, clasping his tool case tighter.

"About twenty minutes ago," Cassiopeia provided helpfully before Talon had to open his mouth. He did not like to talk, even less so with his voice rebelling against its user.

Ilak looked around the entrance hall and he lowered his head in the gesture of someone who did not want to know.

" _Do_ something!" Talon hissed tonelessly and him stepping behind the healer, despite him being more than a head shorter than the other man, seemed to have the desired effect.

The healer started to hurry, "Get her to somewhere I can work."

Talon threw Cassiopeia a warning glance as he passed her, and she saw that the purple bags under his eyes were even worse from close-up. As he kneeled down next to her redheaded sister, Cassiopeia suddenly felt shame and guilt she had never experienced before. The scrawny assassin picked Katarina up, adjusting her head so it rested against his shoulder and practically leaped upstairs. Cassiopeia shoved the healer up behind him.

Five minutes later, Katarina was in her room, safe and under professional care. Talon had his back pressed against the wall, observing the healer's actions like a nervous bird. Said healer was obviously unhappy with a fickle assassin breathing down his neck, standing close enough to act on every wrong move.

Cassiopeia stood in the door frame, the image of their parent's blood-soiled dagger fresh in her mind. Reacting to her staring, Talon bared his teeth at her in another obvious threat, so she concentrated on Ilak's seasoned movements instead.

After ten minutes, it became clear that the adolescent would not leave.

"Talon—," Cassiopeia whispered, voice unsteady.

Talon sent her a withering glare that made her hairs stand on end. "Fuck you!" He croaked, his breaking voice somehow lessening the vitriol inside, even though his eyes promised painful death.

By now, Cassiopeia knew better than try to make fun about his lacking vocal control, a sore lesson and only one of the many logs firing their ongoing, increasingly violent conflict.

She looked to Katarina again, whose breath had eased out, deep and calm now.

Cassiopeia bit her lip and averted her eyes to the ground.

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you."

* * *

 _I still don't think General Du Couteau hates Katarina, but this situation could have contributed to make Katarina feel like he is. To his defense: this is an exceptional situation for the General as well._

 _Beta-read by the one and only jinxiphos, I owe her my eternal gratefulness._


End file.
